


Trigger Finger

by Backne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Drug Use, End!verse, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backne/pseuds/Backne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas's descent is sharp and so is Dean's. They're both struggling to survive, wading through guilt and frustration brought upon them by the impending apocalypse and all that they've lost. All they have to rely on is each other, but barely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trigger Finger

 

The first time Castiel tried any kind of substance it was with Dean, approximately three years after the initial outbreak of the Croatoan virus. They were alone, sitting in Dean’s little red cabin a day or so after Castiel had broken his foot, which was his first real injury since the last of his mojo had slipped away.  It’d happened when he was unloading some heavy bags from the truck when his grip slipped and he dropped one of them on his foot. The ex-angel was distraught, not to mention in pain, because he was truly starting to realize that he was virtually useless to Dean now: a “baby in a trench coat.”

Dean had done his best to apologize for being so harsh, which included a repetition of the words “dude” and “man” along with a series of awkward, rough pats on the shoulder and knee, but it was a little too late for that. The comment had already left its mark, and Castiel wasn’t one to just forget something like that, especially when it came from Dean. Feeling guilty and not knowing how to handle it, the hunter popped open a beer and offered one to the ex-angel. He’d laughed his ass off when Castiel sputtered and made a face at the taste, because it was pretty cheap shit and warm at best, but he promised it would taste better the more he drank. And so they shared a beer, and then another, followed by a third, until they found they’d finished what little beer Dean had left.

Castiel enjoyed the feeling of being drunk more than either of them had anticipated and the two actually had a good time together, something that hadn’t happened in quite a while. Their relationship had become quite strained after the outbreak of the virus, the loss of Sam, and then the loss of Cas’s mojo, which had been their last real advantage. There were so many things left unspoken between the two of them that the tension was almost palpable at times, either because Cas didn’t know how to say it or Dean couldn’t bring himself to speak up.

They weren’t able to get shit-faced, but it was enough to give Cas an idea; he could escape the confines of reality, the guilt and remorse that it bared, and dare he think it, the self-pity. Laid up and unable to help or contribute other than performing simple tasks, Castiel began asking Dean to drink with him as often as Dean would allow. It lasted about two weeks before Dean started to get agitated, and maybe a bit worried, saying that he didn’t think it was healthy for him to be drinking so much. And that’s pretty funny, considering Dean was practically a drunkard. Cas vaguely registered that must really be saying something about him and what he was turning into. But really, he just didn’t care. He wanted to have fun. He deserved a little fun, didn’t he? Why not bang a few gongs before the lights went out?

Forlorn, Castiel resigned to drinking on his own (or on occasion, with Chuck), gulping down whatever he could find, when one of the women in camp introduced him to marijuana. She’d been more than happy to share with him, and when they got around to smoking it she couldn’t stop laughing, teasing him about how much he coughed and how red his eyes were. At first it was frustrating, but then he got the hang of it and found himself laughing along with her, a giddy, temporary contentment taking hold of him. The two of them stayed locked up in his cabin for hours, until the cabin was so smoky you couldn’t see two feet in front of your face. After a while she stopped making fun of him and commended him on his determination. Castiel enjoyed the sensation of what she called being “high.” It was warm and fuzzy, and it made him giggly.

That was also the night Castiel got a taste for sex. It was a strange thing, because one moment he was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, the pipe to his lips, and then her hand was on his thigh, stroking softly, higher and higher. His body responded, and before he knew it she was on top of him, lips locked as she ground their hips together through their pants, and the pressure combined with the friction was a truly exquisite feeling. Of course he didn’t last very long at all, reaching climax with a startled grunt before things really had a chance to go much of anywhere. Shockingly she hadn’t made fun of him for it, possibly because it was a widely known fact that Castiel had been an angel and everyone knew what that meant.  Dean had thought it was funny when Castiel told him about the experience, and even funnier when he admitted his lack of endurance in sexual matters. He had to explain to Cas that what he had experienced was an orgasm, which the angel understood, because he had been watching over humanity for quite some time before all this human business. Dean chuckled, cracking a joke about how Castiel was a dirty old voyeur.

From there it all went pretty fast, different people from camp so graciously opening his eyes to new substances and experiences; ecstasy, absinthe, miscellaneous pills, the works. People thought it was fun to get him high off his ass, corrupting an Angel of the Lord. The women of the camp seemed enthralled by the idea of fucking him, and he wasn’t complaining, because he’d seen Dean work very hard to get women in his bed for just a single night, and here they were just walking up to Cas and offering themselves to him. He graduated from short-lived dry humping to blow-jobs, full-on sex to anal, threesomes, foursomes, and eventually even the occasional orgy. And he didn’t stop there, because he wanted to experience it all; more than a few of the men from camp were willing to go to bed with him, any way Castiel wanted them, top or bottom.

He did find, however, that sleeping with men left him feeling hollowed out. Thoughts of their fearless leader would bleed into his muddled mind as a rough voice moaned his name, fingers tightening in his hair or at his hips, nails clawing at his back. He almost felt resentful at times, because he knew well that Dean would not suffer such a problem, not with Risa or Jenny or the others sharing his bed interchangeably. Dean was satisfied with his meaningless one-night stands hot sweaty encounters with no real emotion behind it, so Cas convinced himself that he was satisfied too.

Dean himself wasn’t actually involved in this part though. Castiel’s descent was sharp and fast right down into a deep, dark pit, and Dean didn’t find it quite so funny anymore. He avoided Castiel for a little while, which kindled the ex-angel’s resentment further. Sometimes Chuck would make a quiet comment, or gentle attempt to dissuade him from whatever he was about to do, but for the most part he was uninvolved. Castiel delved deeper into drugs, mixing things, experimenting.

But after a while, Dean stopped shutting him out, allowing him to hang around his cabin even when he stunk of pot and sex. The ex-angel didn’t miss the look that Dean had in those sharp green eyes. The pain, the loss of hope, the frustration, the guilt— all of it related to Lucifer, the Croatoan virus and most importantly, Sam. And the heaviness of disappointment, Cas definitely didn’t miss that. Maybe that was what hurt him most, searing him right down to his very core. That look burned deep into the ex-angel’s brain, stinging worse than anything Dean could ever verbalize and throw at him. He forced himself to ignore it as best he could, drown it out with more flesh and substance until he couldn’t feel it anymore, till he was so high he could barely remember his own name.

Dean took a nosedive himself. He drank almost nonstop for a while, slamming back shots and beer all day long, and he didn’t want company of any kind, not even women, and if by some miracle he allowed Castiel to stay they’d sit there in silence. That silence was almost unbearable at times, so heavy that he thought it just might crush him alive, but he was afraid to leave the Winchester to himself. Cas had found Dean lying on the floor once, drunker than he’d ever seen him before. He sobbed as he laid there, his chest heaving and his body shuddering brokenly with each breath he took. He curled into himself when he realized he wasn’t alone, uttering a garbled “ _Fuck off!_ ” that Cas didn’t heed. Helping him up, Cas all but drug him to the bathroom so he could empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet, holding him round the chest with one arm to keep him upright so he didn’t fall in the bowl face first. Coughing and spluttering, he pushed at Cas but to no avail. Cas laid him down in bed that night, making sure he was on his side with a trashcan close by, pulling a chair up to watch over him and make sure he didn’t choke to death on his own vomit later that night.

 And one time Dean even got violent. One time in particular stood out to him, the very first time Dean had ever truly laid hands on him with the true intent to hurt him. Castiel had been a little vacant at the time, but he came too when he heard the glass shatter from across the cabin. Stumbling to Dean’s room, he found him staring at the wall as he sat on the edge of his bed, the mirror in the corner shattered and the knuckles of his right hand bleeding profusely. When he tried to help, Dean had yelled at him, grabbing him by the shirt and shoving him out of his room, out of the cabin, his movements so fast and jerky they were a blur in Cas’s vision. The ex-angel hit the dirt hard as Dean slammed the door, leaving him shaken but mostly unhurt, physically anyway. He still wasn’t too sure about what had happened, but he figured it went back to Dean’s habit of sinking into self-loathing fits.

When Dean apologized for the outburst, Castiel had forgiven him, offering him a wide grin and a warm hand on his shoulder, fingers squeezing with reassurance. An awkward pat or two later, Castiel thought to offer him a bit of tangible happiness in the form of what little weed he had left and a few blue pills. It was a heartfelt gesture made with good intentions, but Dean had stared at him, this wide-eyed, slack jacked, incredulous look on his face. _“Cas, how can you even…Jesus, are you really that…?”_ He hadn’t finished the sentence, but he knew what Dean was going to say: broken. _Are you really that broken?_ Was he? Was Dean? He didn’t know. He was messed up, faulty, defective _._ He’d _always_ been defective, whether he was an angel or a man. The disappointment in Dean’s eyes was taking a new shape: pity. Cas hated that emotion, more than any other human emotion in the world. It made him feel pathetic, as if Dean was making a mockery of him.

Even when Castiel’s foot was healed up properly, he wasn’t particularly useful. He could handle a gun alright, could generally hit a target, but he was almost never completely sober, and Dean just couldn’t trust him if he wasn’t. Anything beyond simple missions like scouting or salvaging were out, all of which Dean insisted he was a part of, just to make sure Cas didn’t screw up and that became way too tedious way too quickly.  Cas figured that the only reason he was taken on these missions in the first place was so that he didn’t feel quite so inadequate but it didn’t really help, but it was a nice gesture on Dean’s part at least. But despite all this, he wasn’t half bad as medic. He could clean out wounds and dress them up nicely, which came in handy.

Despite his substance fuelled stupors, he could patch Dean up better than anyone else could and that made Castiel happy, because that made him feel truly useful for the first time in a while. He took very special care with Dean in particular though, more than anyone else he tended to, meticulous as he worked so he could show Dean that he wasn’t a lost cause. Once, when he’d been stitching Dean up, the hunter had started joking and made what Castiel hoped was an unintentional jibe, asking if he was going to kiss it better when he was done. Castiel had smiled a little, tilting his head in a way that reminded Dean of the angel he used to know.

_“I can if you’d like me to._ ” He’d said, not fully understanding, and Dean had guffawed, thinking he was joking, or dismissing it as a drug induced slip. Castiel had got up and left shortly after, but a few of the men around camp had already started to call him Dean’s personal nurse.

Castiel saw less and less of Dean in the next two months that followed. He’d become obsessed with Michael, and no matter what Castiel said, he wouldn’t listen to reason. But no matter how much Dean screamed and begged, Michael never came. Castiel knew he wouldn’t, but it pained him to see Dean so distraught, so distant, and so he began delving a little too deep, losing himself more and more, nearly ODing once or twice. Not to mention the sex. Faces blurred together, names forgotten the moment they were spoken. It was really a miracle Cas didn’t contract something. Eventually things reached a crescendo, one that neither of them were really anticipating. It wasn’t really explosive, at least not at first. But Castiel missed Dean, and after he’d swallowed what little pride he had left (and with a little liquid courage) he proposed they should “hang out.”

“Cas, I’m not really in the mood to drink tonight.” Dean had said. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes dark and heavy enough to rival the ones under Castiel’s own eyes. The ex-angel pursed his lips in response, rocking on his heels.

“We could smoke.” Castiel suggested, hoping a little peer-pressure would sway him. Dean grimaced in response, already looking annoyed, and that wounded Cas. He frowned in return, which came out as more of a pout, looking so sad despite his dilated pupils and bloodshot eyes. “Dean…” Really, he just wanted to be around Dean. He wanted to laugh and joke and have fun like they had that first night they got drunk. Dean sighed heavily, one hand reaching up to binch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“Alright, fine.” He agreed. “But it’s been a while, so don’t go bein’ a smartass about it or anything.” Castiel gave him a big smile, his scruffy face brightening a little.

As it turned out, Dean really didn’t like smoking very much. Castiel wasn’t really surprised, but it made him laugh when Dean coughed and sputtered, sucking in ash when he inhaled too hard. It was funny considering Dean had been teasing him when he choked on his first beer and now the tables were turned. Dean had been a little grumpy at first, grousing about how it’d been a long time since high school and what not, but he started to relax after the second hit. Cas even helped him a little, and when the pair were fairly stoned, the dark cabin was suddenly much more comfortable, and not so much a symbol of desolation and failure.

“Damn dude, I’m so chilled out right now.” Dean laughed, rubbing a hand  over his eyes. Cas chuckled to himself as the other man stood up, walking over to get a beer. “Want one?” He asked without turning around. Castiel used the opportunity to pop a little white pill that he wasn’t entirely sure would do.

“Yeah, I’ll take one.” He said, and Dean returned with two silver cans, tripping and stumbling when the toe of his shoe caught the leg of the table. Dean’s hip caught the edge of the table hard enough to bruise and they both laughed.

“Shit. I’m glad I agreed to this. This is… this is awesome.” He laughed, giving Castiel’s shoulder a pat. It wasn’t quite as rough or awkward as they usually were. Actually, it was pretty gentle, and then Dean let his hand rest there, warm and comfortably heavy. He was sure it didn’t mean anything, but he liked that hand there, and when Dean started to pull away, he let his hand sort of fall off, sliding down the ex-angel’s bicep loosely before dropping to his side. Castiel felt his skin prickle, making his lips twitch at the corners as he popped the the tab on the beer can.

“Yeah, it is.” He said, and he almost wished he could say something more intelligent. He flashed a little smile instead, his eyes flickering from the floor to Dean’s face.

“Man,” Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling, “You have to be the best friend I’ve ever had.” Cas’s heart skittered, his stomach tightening. Dean laughed and shook his head. “Seriously, I don’t think _anyone_ has ever stuck by me this long aside from Sam, not even Dad....” There was a heavy pause, “Shit, I’m getting all sappy.”

“I don’t mind.” Castiel said quietly, sounding a little more serious than he intended to. Dean moved his head to the side, looking back to his friend, offering him a big, goofy smile. Castiel stared back at him, his big blue eyes more intense and clear than they should’ve been for all the crap filtering through his system. In turn, Dean’s green eyes were so vivid and alive, Castiel could see every detail, every fleck of color, the lines in the Winchester’s skin, the stubble, everything, and it was beautiful. His mouth went totally dry, and he swallowed hard, licking his dry, cracked lips. When Dean’s smile wavered, he took the hint and dropped his gaze, looking elsewhere. The room got quiet, and Cas didn’t like it one bit. He refused to let silence ruin the night.

“Have you ever followed a honeybee before?” He asked out of the blue, and as soon as the words left his mouth Dean started to laugh. The laugh escalated to a guffaw, until he was sputtering and wheezing like Castiel had just told the best joke he’d ever heard.  He didn’t really see what was so funny about the question, but he enjoyed seeing Dean so happy that he didn’t really care if it was at his expense. Smiling, he went to take another drink of his beer when he realized it was empty. Standing up, he went to get another.

“Hey, get me one too, would ya?” Dean calls over his shoulder, and so he grabbed a second one. He wasn’t quite as wobbly as Dean was, possibly because the pill he’d taken a little while ago was an upper. It left him on a strange plane of reality, a paradox of clarity and haziness. When he reached the table again, he decided to be helpful by popping the top off Dean’s beer before handing it over. Dean smiled, raising his canto clink it against Castiel’s.

“Thanks.” He said, taking a swallow. Cas didn’t sit down, popping the tab on his own and taking a swig. Dean didn’t seem uncomfortable with their close proximity, so he stayed there for a few minutes, enjoying the closeness. Then Dean turned around, half-laughing as if he’d thought of something funny, his hand brushing Castiel’s hip in the process. Dean didn’t seem to notice, but Cas did, his body suddenly hyperaware as he dropped his eyes to Dean again. His mouth was half open to say something, head tilted up so he could see his friend when Cas put his hand out to rest against the side of Dean’s face, leaning down and kissing him squarely on the mouth.

He could feel everything so vividly. The soft texture of Dean’s lips, the firm fullness of them, the warmth. The musky scent of sweat and dirt filled his nose, the sound of Dean’s exhale, the warmth of it on his upper lip, his own heartbeat pitter-pattering in his ears. He pulled away moments later, and Dean’s expression was not what he expected. Not angry, not confused, not disgusted, not anything at all. Green eyes blinked slowly, his lips moving wordlessly for half a second before Cas leaned down and kissed him again, a little harder, lips moving insistently. Dean didn’t close his eyes, observing the almost frustrated look on Castiel’s face, with his eyes squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed as Dean’s mind tried to catch up to the moment.  Cas wanted Dean to react, needed him to. _Acknowledge me_.

And then Cas found himself up against the wall, Dean’s chest pressed to his own as teeth closed around his bottom lip. The ex-angel let out a strangled moan in response, fingers clutching desperately at Dean’s broad shoulders, fingers grasping as his jacket. It all happened so fast, leaving his brain struggling to keep up in its current state, because he wanted to truly experience this, remember it once it was over. Lips moved against one another feverishly, sloppy but earnest, Castiel’s chapped ones against Dean’s softer ones, tongues brushing, touching, entangling. Castiel’s moan was uneven as Dean invaded his mouth, one of his hands finally finding purchase in the Winchester’s hair and holding on for dear life, fingernails scratching at his scalp and sending a shock down Dean’s spine.

When the kiss was broken, Castiel found himself frustrated, making a low whining sound to voice his protest, but it fell upon deaf ears. Teeth grazed his throat, a wave of intense sensation flooding his nerve endings when Dean bit down, the ex-angel’s whiskers scraping the flat of his tongue. They were both breathing hard, and somehow Castiel managed to get Dean’s shirt up and over his head, tossing it on the floor, finally able to feel the hard muscles underneath warm, smooth skin pressinh against his palm. Dean groaned when fingers brushed his stiff left nipple, his hips bucking forward, brushing his straining cock against Castiel’s thigh, desperate for friction. It reminded him that there are other parts of Dean to pay attention to, parts that need more attention than others.

Castiel slid down the wall, dropping onto his knees in front of Dean like a man ready to pray. Blue irises were almost hidden behind dilated pupils, but Dean didn’t have time to consider if the situation was a mistake or not before Cas was palming his dick through his jeans. His little cocktail from earlier was making hand-eye coordination a real bitch, fingers clumsy as they fumbled with the zipper, eager to free Dean from the restrictive confines of his jeans. With a little luck, he managed to open the front of Dean’s pants, his hands moving to drag Dean’s pinstripe boxers down.

Dean’s dick sprang free, revealing how well-endowed he truly was, thick at the base and flushed red at the leaking tip. Castiel reached out to grip him firmly in one hand, pumping once before gliding his tongue over the tip, gathering the pearl of precum on the flat of it. Dean gasped, and that was the only incentive he needed to wrap his lips around Dean’s throbbing cock, sucking the head fervently before taking the first few inches in his mouth, feeling the hot, heavy weight of it rest on his tongue.

_“Cas...”_ Dean moaned, and the ex-angels gave a throaty groan from around the other man’s dick, hands reaching around to squeeze Dean’s shapely ass through his pants. The hunter opened his eyes, lids heavy as he watched Cas’s scruffy face, thick pink lips wrapped gratefully around his cock. He made a low, quiet string of noises as he buried his fingers in Castiel’s messy dark hair and rocked his hips forward. Luckily, Cas had been expecting it, letting the thickness of Dean stretch the walls of his throat, making him gag just a little. But it was all happening too fast, felt too good, and Dean wasn’t ready to end it all just yet, especially when Cas was sucking him off so enthusiastically, right down to the hilt. He took a grudging step back, pushing Cas away a little harder than he intended so that he fell back on his butt. Wide eyes almost looked afraid, ready for this all the come crashing down, their friendship to officially end.

“The bedroom.” Dean muttered, and it took Castiel a moment to register why that was even remotely important. Then relief flooded Cas’s insides, warm and wet to calm the cold chill that had threatened to overtake him.

“Right.” He wheezed, and he was almost surprised. Surprised Dean wasn’t angry, surprised Dean hadn’t come to his senses and decked him in the face, or at brought it all to an end. Was that  the alcohol talking or the pot? Both? Or maybe Dean wanted to do this, wanted this to…? He pushed the thoughts away, back into a dark corner of his mind, a vault if you will. If there was one thing he’d learned about sex, never overthink it. At least not while the sex is still underway.

Dean lost his pants somewhere along the way, fumbling as he dug out a bottle of lube from his nightstand, shucking his boxers as his ass hit the edge of his little twin bed. Cas came to him, a little awkwardly as Dean worked his shirt off, fingers sloppy with the buttons, tearing one lose on accident. Castiel didn’t mind though, pushing the shirt off and leaving it draped on the edge of the bed. He was on Dean in a heartbeat, touching his neck and chest, the hard planes of his stomach. Up until this point, sex had only been the means to an end, bodily pleasure, release. The only thing he had cared about was achieving an orgasm, or multiple ones at that. He didn’t care who it was with or how it was achieved, and although he had the courtesy to ensure his partner at the time at least finished, he didn’t care very much. But this was different, because he wanted Dean, wanted him so badly it hurt. He wanted to feel Dean squirm, muscles rippling under skin, feel the weight of Dean’s cock in his hand, his mouth, his throat, inside him, the warm, wet splatter of Dean’s release. But more than anything, he wanted Dean to say his name, grunt it, moan it, rasp it out and lay claim to him.

Dean’s teeth grazed over Cas’s left nipple, reigning him back to the present just in time to fully appreciate the wet slide of his tongue over the stiff tip of it. Groaning softly he pushed the other man back onto the bed, hand weighing down at the center of his chest as he took off his own pants. Luckily, he never could be bothered with underwear, not since he realized how freeing it was not to wear them. Dean seemed to sober a little at the sight of Cas’s member, swollen and curved upward slightly, leaking from the soft pink head. He was smaller than Dean, but what he lacked in length he made up for in thickness. He felt no shyness in presenting the hunter with his naked body, taking the lube from Dean’s hand and squirting a generous amount into his palm, reaching out and slicking up Dean’s cock. He stroked it from base to tip, pausing to rub his thumb circularly over the sensitive head, squeezing gently and slide down once more, pausing to rub his balls.

That seemed to be enough to get Dean back on board, Castiel finding himself being shoved onto the bed, chest flat to the mattress. Nails drug down the ex-angel’s back, grazing over sensitive nerves, reminding Cas of the days when he still had wings as the muscles bunch under Dean’s fingers. He lets his eyes flutter shut as he heard the bottle cap of the lube pop open again, warm fingers spreading the slippery stuff over his hole, one finger pushing inside experimentally. He moaned quietly in response, pushing back into the digit up to the last knuckle, and Dean was more than willing to add a second, then third finger, pushing in slow and deep at first. Gradually he sped up, leaving Castiel to gasp and pant and claw at the sheets beneath him when he happened to notice a pair of pink panties tangled in the sheets near his head. For a moment, his stomach began to sink, because he knew this was just a one-night stand just like all those countless women, and it made him feel used, a dime-a-dozen if that.

Dean pulled his hand away, replacing it with the soft yet firm head of his cock pressing against the tight ring of muscle. The ex-angel relaxed his body to allow the other man entry, pushing the thought of the numerous women Dean had shared his bed with out of his head as Dean slid inside him. He let out a low groan once he was fully sheathed inside Cas’s tight heat, who squeezed around him, pushing his ass back until hip bones pressed into his ass cheeks. The first thrust was slow, a little jerky as he found his rhythm, hands finding purchase on Cas’s hips, fingers curling around just tight enough that he could feel nails press into his skin. Cas grew louder the harder Dean thrust his hips, until there was a prominent slap of skin with each thrust, effectively driving the air from Cas’s lungs and any coherent thoughts left in his foggy head.

 “Dean, I nee—ah, h-harder. _Harder, please._ ” Cas wheezed desperately. He wanted it to hurt, needed it to. Needed to be sore the next day, to remember that this happened, that he hadn’t dreamt it up during some all-too-realistic drug trip.  Dean shifted behind him, putting some of his weight on Cas’s back as he thrust impossibly deeper, hitting a sweet spot in Cas that he didn’t know he had.

“Nnngh!” The air was being wrenched from his chest as Dean continued to thrust against it, pounding into Cas’s prostate without mercy. He was cumming in a matter of seconds, his world blurring at the edges, something he’d never experienced before without some sort of stimulation to his penis, the sensation white hot as if his orgasm were being ripped out of him. Three hot, wet spurts hit the sheets as he whimpered, clawing at the bed beneath him, gasping for breath as his body quivered.

“ _Fuck, Cas!_ ” Dean grit out, slamming in harder than ever as the ex-angel’s body clenched around him desperately, milking his cock for all he was worth. Fingers dug into his hips hard enough that it’d definitely bruise later, and with one final thrust into him. Dean spilled himself deep inside Cas, the warm, slickness of cum making him shiver, mewling softly as his stiff fingers relaxed their grip on the sheets. Dean was panting hard when he pulled out, his legs shaking a little bit as he flopped onto his side.  

Cas laid there for what he thought was just a few minutes, but when he picked himself up, turning to look at Dean, he was surprised to find him fast asleep already, one arm tossed over his eyes. It gave him a chance to fully appreciate Dean’s body, his toned chest and stomach, the dip of his belly button and hips. He laid there on his stomach for a few minutes, propped on his elbows as he studied the other man, whose lips were parted as he began to snore. Daring to push his luck, he crawled closer, moving so that his scruffy chin rested on Dean’s shoulder, resting his arm over Dean’s waist, pressing his chest and belly into Dean’s free arm. He got comfort there, pressed against the other man’s warm body and breathing in his familiar smell. His eyes slid shut after sometime of staring into the darkness of the room, his consciousness fading out into black as he drifted to sleep.

The next morning he woke up to an empty bed, no sign of Dean anywhere. Cas felt a sinking in his chest, his body sluggish and heavy as he blinked his dry, itchy eyes and he sat up. He spent a good fifteen minutes fumbling around the house half-naked, searching for various articles of clothing. He received a few curious glances when he was seen emerging from Dean’s cabin, weaving around the junk out front as he shielded his eyes from the sun’s harsh rays overhead. His skull throbbed dully as he looked around, hoping to catch sight of Dean when he finally spotted him off to the side. Cas recognized the woman’s face, noticed her tucked under Dean’s arm, and he found himself almost trembling as he turned away, heading off to his own cabin.

It wasn’t until he was high off his ass that he undressed, alone in his bed, fingers probing the bruises Dean had left on him the previous night that he finally allowed himself to remember it all. It made him smile a little, not quite bitter (at least then), but almost pleased with himself. There was a knock on his door, and Cas allowed himself to hope for Dean, or perhaps someone that was at least willing to share his bed with for the night and not immediately bail in the morning, but when he opened it, he was surprised to find Chuck on the other side. The mousey little man gave him an awkward smile, eyes darting to the side nervously.

“Hey, Cas. I uh, can I come in for a minute?” He asked. Castiel blinked sloswly, taking a moment to process, but stepped back and offered him entry.

“Can I get you anything? I’ve got some whiskey, maybe a little absinthe left over.” Cas offered as he closed the door. Chuck gave a nervous laugh.

“No, thanks. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute is all. About Dean.” The man’s name caught Cas’s attention, making him pause.

“Look… I know you guys have hit a bit of a rough patch. I mean, who can blame you, with the apocalypse and all. But I just wanted to tell you something, a little advice from me to you….” He said, and his expression was genuine. “Don’t be sad that it’s over, be glad that it happened, alright? He needs you, even if he doesn’t know how to say it.” And with that said, Chuck left almost as soon as he’d arrived. Cas wasn’t really sure whether or not he was referring to last night or in general, but he figured it didn’t matter. They were good words nonetheless.

It was a week later when Cas nearly killed himself popping pills that Dean had to come scrape him up off the floor, like gum stuck to a sidewalk. Reality was blurry and painful, and every little touch hurt, especially when Dean was hauling him around like a rag doll. He could barely look him in the eye, could hardly hold his own head up, couldn’t bear the disappointment in Dean’s eyes. “Man, I really fucked up with you, didn’t I?” Dean muttered, shaking his head. As soon as Cas had stabilized in the infirmary, Dean was off again, searching for the colt, setting out on his never ending mission for unachievable redemption. _He should just give up like me,_ Cas thought. It was so much easier to give up, drown yourself in sex and decadence. But he knew that Dean would never do that. Maybe that was why he loved him so damn much, because that was Dean’s spark, the persistent bastard.


End file.
